


I Want to Hold Your Hand

by rowdyhooligan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Ships It, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowdyhooligan/pseuds/rowdyhooligan
Summary: Some downtime between hunts draws Mick and the reader closer together.





	I Want to Hold Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from tumblr: written for @wayward-mirage BMoL British Invasion Writing Challenge. My song was “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by The Beatles.

“All in all, I’d say it was a textbook hunt,” Mick beamed at you, clinking your beer bottles together. 

Cheeks warming at the gesture, you returned his smile. It was late- or early, depending on your point of view- when the two of you rolled in from your most recent hunt, and were busy regaling Sam and Dean with the details. The more experienced duo listened with amused pride, relieved to have you home safe and sound. Although they didn’t doubt your capability when it came to hunting, the many losses in their past made both brothers a little wary when you were sent out on a vetala hunt with the relatively inexperienced newcomer.    

When Mick had turned up on the bunker’s doorstep bloody and panicked from a failed attempt on his life, you hadn’t known what to make of it. You always enjoyed his company when he worked for the British Men of Letters, but the Winchesters initial reluctance to trust the organization made getting to know him better next to impossible. But he’d proven himself by providing invaluable intelligence on the Men of Letters, helping you and all American hunters in the process.   

After the compound went up in a fiery blaze, Mick found himself suddenly homeless, without a cause or purpose for the first time in his life. It pained you to see the man so at a loss, which led to you pleading his case on his behalf, imploring with the brothers to let him stay at the bunker with all of you. In the end, it had taken very little cajoling on your part. Mick had proven himself, showing ingenuity, courage, and a give ‘em hell attitude: all the makings of a hunter.

Getting up to grab another beer, you asked if the anyone else wanted one. Mick took you up on your offer with a grateful smile, while Sam and Dean both declined. With your back to the library, you missed the way Mick’s eyes followed you until you were out of sight…but Dean didn’t. He glanced from Mick, to your retreating back, to Mick again, a knowing look on his face. Downing the last of his beer, he made the excuse that he needed to throw away the bottle to follow after you.

Rifling through the fridge for more beer, you jumped a little when Dean appeared out of nowhere behind the fridge door, instinct kicking in as you went for the knife you always carried on you. He stepped back, hands up. “Easy there, tiger.”

“Jesus Dean, you ought to know better than to sneak up on me like that,” you groused, putting the knife away, “I’m gonna get you a damn bell to wear.”

“Just make sure it brings out my eyes,” he snarked, flashing you an ‘aren’t I funny’ smile when you rolled your eyes.

“Change your mind about the beer?” you asked.

“Naw, just need to throw this one away.” Dean made a show of dawdling, watching your movements as he whistled a little too casually.

It was clear he wanted something, and it didn’t take long for you to ask, “Did…you want to talk or…”

He latched onto your invitation eagerly. “So, you and Mick huh? Gotta say, I’m not too surprised- I told Sammy it was only a matter of time.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, hoping you sounded puzzled and not mortified that he picked up on your crush.

“You know,” he stressed, “the two of you, together. It’s about time he manned up and made a move.”

“Dean, why do you- Mick and I- we’re not ‘together’,” you said, flushing hotly, pretending to look for the bottle opener so you wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. An arm entered your field of vision, bottle opener in hand. You took it from him, keeping your gaze down, staunchly refusing to look Dean in the face.

“The hell are you talking about? The way the two of you were looking at each other, I thought for sure… so you’re saying neither of you has said anything?” he asked incredulously.

“Dean,” you tried to sound convincing, “it’s not like that. Mick and I are-“

“If you say ‘just friends’ I’m gonna throw up,” he cut you off with a dramatic eye roll. “Kiddo, there is nothing platonic about the way he looks at you. Dude’s obviously head over heels, and you aren’t much more subtle. I figured the way you kept staring at each other with these big moon eyes, one of you finally did something about it, but I guess I was wrong.”

You wanted to protest, but the words died in your throat before you could get them out. You sighed. “Am I really that obvious?”

“Uh, yeah. Like I said, almost as obvious as him.” Dean took pity when you sighed again, pulling you into a tight hug. “Look, you want my advice- don’t fight it, okay? We got enough crap to deal with in this life, so try to take the good things when we’re lucky enough to get ‘em.”

Pulling away before things got too sappy, Dean pecked you on the forehead before heading back to the library to rejoin the others. He didn’t say anything when you followed after him moments later, giving no indication of your heart to heart in the kitchen. You were grateful for it; Dean had given you a lot to think about. Every word, every gesture Mick made, you saw a double meaning. It was enough to give you a headache.

Finishing off your beer, the time caught up with you with a wide yawn. You said your good nights, getting up with a stretch, hyper aware of Mick’s eyes on you. Was it your imagination or did he linger a little longer than was strictly polite on the curves of your body? Was his voice a little more gruff when he wished you a good night’s rest? Or were you reading too much into it, letting Dean’s words get to you?

You cursed Dean for bringing it up. As it was, you’d had to tell yourself more than once in the past that pursuing anything more with Mick could have disastrous consequences for your hunting relationship. You were content enough with the lively conversation and meaningful glances. Knowing that- according to Dean, at least- he possibly reciprocated your feelings sent something very much like hope fluttering in your chest.

Eventually drifting to sleep, you woke up later than usual the next morning. After seeing to nature’s call and brushing your teeth, you wandered to the kitchen in search of some caffeine. The welcome aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, beckoning you like a siren; the others must be up. Pouring yourself a cup, you hummed in satisfaction- Mick made the best coffee, confiding in you that the secret was adding a pinch of cinnamon to the grounds to give it a little kick.

Without a fresh hunt to prepare for, you were at a loss for what to do. You toyed with the idea of working up a sweat in the training room, but dismissed it almost immediately, still a little banged up from the vetala. The idea of cleaning your weapons for the next case was equally unappealing. Deciding to take advantage of the rare downtime, you grabbed some snacks and topped off your coffee for a day of binge watching YouTube. It was just the sort of mindless entertainment you didn’t get enough of anymore.

Holing yourself up in your bedroom, you cycled through several hours of videos, clicking on anything that caught your attention. Taking a break to make lunch, you saw a note taped to the refrigerator door in Sam’s handwriting; he and Dean had gone on a supply run and wouldn’t be back for awhile. Shrugging, you finished making your sandwich, turned around, and nearly ran straight into Mick.

“Jesus!” you exclaimed, saving your plate from toppling to the floor. “I’m gonna put bells on all of you.”

“Beg pardon?” he asked, bewildered.

“Forget it,” you said with a shake of your head, “it’s not important. Did you need something?”

“Just getting a drink,” he gestured to the fridge. You stepped aside so he could pour himself a glass of tomato juice, scrunching your nose in distaste- how he could stand the taste of it you would never know. He smiled around the rim of his glass at your expression, licking a stray drop from the corner of his mouth; you tried not to stare. Still smiling at you, he asked, “Where are the lads? I haven’t seen them all day…haven’t seen much of you either.”

“Supply run,” you explained, “I think they just wanted to get out of the bunker for awhile. And I’ve been binging YouTube videos- there’s some weird stuff on there if you click enough.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he chuckled.

Your smile grew even larger at the sound of his laughter, warmth flooding your chest. “And what have you been up to?”

“Catching up on one of my favorite podcasts; the latest episode explores the effect Anne Boleyn had on spreading the Protestant Reformation in England, it’s fascinating stuff.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you echoed teasingly. Looking down at your plate, you were reluctant to leave. “Well, those videos aren’t going to watch themselves.”

Mick seemed equally disappointed to see you leave. “Oh, right.”

Biting your lip, you hesitantly suggested, “I…I don’t suppose you want to join me? Maybe take a break from your podcast for a bit.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, brightening visibly. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be,” you answered a little too quickly. “If- if you want to, you’re more than welcome.”

Giving you another smile that brought out the little crinkles around his eyes, Mick swept his arm out. “Ladies first.”

Back in your room, you plopped down on the bed, careful setting your plate on the nightstand. Mick wasted no time settling into the space next to you, close enough you could smell his lingering aftershave and feel the warmth of him radiating from his skin. In his jeans and a flannel shirt a size too big, he looked at home in your bed.

Fighting down a grin at the thought, you placed your laptop between the two of you, scooting in closer than was strictly necessary. Mick didn’t seem to mind, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He also didn’t have a preference of what to watch, content to let you decide. You stayed that way for an hour, pressed up close together, watching anything that caught your eye. It was the laziest, most carefree hour you could remember having in far too long. With Mick, you could just…relax.

The brothers returned from their supply run about half an hour into your binging. The sound of the front door opening caught both of your attentions, but you were feeling far too comfortable to get up and help unload all of the supplies. Mick apparently felt the same, settling himself deeper into your pillows. Both of you ignored Dean’s calls to ‘get your asses in the kitchen and help’.

You should have known he wouldn’t let that slide, the sound of boots tromping down the hall announcing his presence. Glancing over at him, you immediately flushed at the smirk on his face when he saw the two of you so close. Speaking up before he could say anything, you asked, “Did you still need help?”

“Naw,” he drawled, shit-eating grin firmly in place, “me and Sammy finished up…besides, wouldn’t want to disturb you when you look so cozy. I was just gonna ask if you were cool with pasta for dinner.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, hoping he’d get the hint to shut the hell up.

“Fine by me,” Mick put in, not looking away from the screen.

“Alright. I’ll call you when it’s ready then.” Dean left, but not before shooting you a wink and a thumbs up.

Praying Mick hadn’t noticed, you were relieved to see him scrolling through some music videos. Looking closer to see they were songs by The Beatles, you let him select one, the sounds of ‘Eleanor Rigby’ filling your room. It seemed fitting, somehow, that he was a Beatles fan, and you told him as much.

“Who isn’t?” he chuckled.

You jumped around from era to era, following no particular rhyme or reason as Mick went through their discography. He knew the lyrics to every song, singing along quietly, unaware he was even doing so. You knew you were staring, but didn’t care; seeing Mick like this, with all of his barriers down, was amazing. The years of working under the oppressive Code fell away to leave a younger, lighter man in their wake.

He glanced over and caught you staring, returning your smile with one of his own. He didn’t seem at all embarrassed that you were ogling him; he simply clicked on the next song. A little flustered that he caught you so blatantly eyeing him, it took a moment to recognize the tune now playing. Only when Mick took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, did it click. The intent in Mick’s eyes was clear, and as John and Paul crooned on, you didn’t shy away when Mick pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

Kissing him…touching him…filled you with a happiness so radiant, you could never hope to hide it. Not that you would want to. Dean was right; with so much ugliness in your day-to-day lives, why fight the good that came into it? Cupping his cheek with your free hand, you pulled him closer still, deepening the kiss. You wanted to commit this moment to memory: the feel of his lips on yours, the scent of him, the scratch of his scruff against your palm.

The song ended, but neither you nor Mick noticed. You lost yourselves in each other’s lips, kissing and kissing and kissing. When you finally pulled away, cheeks flushed and a lips swollen, you both broke down in laughter, joy sparkling in your eyes. Mick rested his forehead against yours, tightening his grip on your hand.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured.

“Probably about as long as I’ve wanted you to,” you replied honestly.

It was quiet for a moment before he spoke up again. “So, will you? Will you let me be your man?”

Beaming at him, you pulled him into a quick kiss, mumbling against his lips, “What do you think?”

He was about to go in for another kiss when a harsh cough interrupted you. Whipping your head around to see Sam standing awkwardly in the doorway, you groaned under your breath at his poor timing. “Uh, dinner’s ready you guys.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

He flashed an embarrassed smile at you, spinning on his heels and scurrying away. You didn’t think your cheeks could get any hotter until you heard him bellowing, “I owe you five bucks, Dean!”

Dropping your head to Mick’s shoulder, you let out another exasperated groan. “I’m gonna kill them both.”

Mick huffed out a laugh at your theatrics. “Can it wait until after dinner? I’ll help you hide the bodies.”

“Deal.” Shutting down your laptop, you crawled off the bed, tugging Mick along with you. “Let’s go eat.”

Hand in hand, you braced yourself for weeks of incessant teasing. Glancing over at Mick, you knew it was worth it.


End file.
